Forensic Science: Crimes on File #11: Nannie Doss
Many serial killers have been driven by perverted ideas of sex. Nannie Doss may be one to have been driven by a perverted notion of romance. When investigators asked this mild-looking grandmother about the four husbands she had murdered (among at least ten victims in all), she explained her actions by saying: "I was looking for the perfect mate, the real romance of life."
Nancy "Nannie" Doss was born in the rural town of Blue Mountain in the hill country of north-west Alabama in 1905. She had a tough childhood. Her father Hames Hazel was an authoritarian farmer who worked his children as if they were hired farmhands and beat them if they failed to keep up with his demanding pace of work. Despite, if not because, of her father's strictness, Nannie became a willful teenager, known for her promiscuity. In 1921, aged sixteen, she married a co-worker at the Linen Thread Company, Charles Braggs, and they had four children in quick succession. Nannie jumped into the relationship to escape her domineering father but found herself living with her new husband's equally domineering mother. When Charles himself turned out to be a drunk and a womanizer, Nannie responded by going back to her wild ways.
The marriage was clearly not built to last and it came to an end with what appeared to be a double tragedy. In 1927, the couple's two middle children both died in separate episodes of suspected food poisoning. At the time no one suspected foul play, but soon afterwards Charles Bragg ran off, taking their eldest daughter with him. He later claimed that he was frightened of his wife and had made a point of not eating anything she prepared.
Another "Tragedy"
With her husband gone, Nannie took a job at a cotton mill to support herself and her remaining daughter, Florine. In due course she moved across the state line to Georgia and remarried, to a man named Frank Harrelson. Harrelson turned out to be another alcoholic ne'er-do-well, although the relationship persisted until 1945 when another apparent tragedy struck. Once again, a child died. This time it was Florine's son, Nannie's grandson. Florine had left her infant son with her mother while she visited her father. Three days later the baby was dead. The suggestion was that he might accidentally swallowed rat poison.
Three months later, Nannie claimed her first adult victim. Frank Harrelson came home drunk and abused her one time too many. The next day, she put rat poison in his corn liquor. Several agonized days later he was dead, and, once more, no one suspected a thing.
Fortunately for Nannie, she had recently insured Frank's life and she now used the payment to buy a house in Jackson, Mississippi, where she lived until 1947. At this point, Nannie answered a lonely hearts advertisement - romance magazines and lonely hearts columns were Nannie's favored reading matter - placed by a man named Arlie Lanning from Lexington, North Carolina. Two days after they met, they were married. However, once again, Nannie's new husband proved to be a disappointment. Arlie was another drunk, and after three years Nannie had had enough of him.
In February 1950, Nannie served Arlie a meal of stewed prunes and coffee. He had terrible stomach pains for two days and then died. Nannie told neighbors that his last words were: "Nannie, it must have been the coffee." Of course, he may have been wrong: it may have been the arsenic in the coffee, but then again, it could have been the prunes that had been stewed in rat poison. The doctor, needless to say, did not suspect murder, not even when their house - which would have gone to Arlie's sister in his will - mysteriously burnt down, leaving Nannie with the insurance payment.
As soon as the insurance check cleared, Nannie left town. She visited her sister Dovie - who promptly keeled over. In 1952 Nannie signed up to a new innovation, a dating agency called the Diamond Circle Club. Through the agency she met Richard Morton from Emporia, Kansas. Yet again, he proved to be a disappointment, not a drunk this time, but a fraud and a womanizer. He was not to be her next victim, however: that was her mother Louise, who came to stay in January 1953, fell ill with chronic stomach pains and died. Three months later, Richard Morton went the same way. Yet again, the doctors failed to ask for an autopsy.
During her brief marriage to Morton, Nannie had continued corresponding with her lonely hearts, and immediately after the funeral she went to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to meet the likeliest new prospect, Samuel Doss. They were married in June 1953. Doss was not a drinker or womanizer: he was a puritanical Christian and miser. Once again, Nannie's new husband failed to meet her romantic ideal. A little over a year later, in September 1954, shortly after eating one of Nannie's prune cakes, Samuel was admitted to the hospital with stomach pains. He survived and was released from the hospital twenty-three days later. That evening, Nannie served him a perfectly innocent port roast, which he washed down with a cup of coffee laced with arsenic. He died immediately, and this time the physician ordered an autopsy.
They found enough arsenic to kill twenty men in Samuel's stomach. The police confronted Nannie, unable to believe that this fifty-year-old grandmother could be a killer. She unnerved them by giggling at their questions; then, when they refused to let her continue reading her romance magazine, she confessed to murdering not just Samuel, but her previous three husbands as well.
The news was an immediate sensation. The press dubbed Nannie the "Giggling Granny" and she was put on trial for murder. She was duly sentenced to life in prison and, after serving ten years of her sentence, died in 1965, aged sixty. Further investigation revealed that Nannie's four husbands, two children, and grandson were not the only victims: Nannie's mother, two sisters, a nephew, and a granddaughter had also dies of arsenic poisoning.
Many serial killers have been driven by perverted ideas of sex. Nannie Doss may be one to have been driven by a perverted notion of romance. When investigators asked this mild-looking grandmother about the four husbands she had murdered (among at least ten victims in all), she explained her actions by saying: "I was looking for the perfect mate, the real romance of life."
Nancy "Nannie" Doss was born in the rural town of Blue Mountain in the hill country of north-west Alabama in 1905. She had a tough childhood. Her father Hames Hazel was an authoritarian farmer who worked his children as if they were hired farmhands and beat them if they failed to keep up with his demanding pace of work. Despite, if not because, of her father's strictness, Nannie became a willful teenager, known for her promiscuity. In 1921, aged sixteen, she married a co-worker at the Linen Thread Company, Charles Braggs, and they had four children in quick succession. Nannie jumped into the relationship to escape her domineering father but found herself living with her new husband's equally domineering mother. When Charles himself turned out to be a drunk and a womanizer, Nannie responded by going back to her wild ways.
The marriage was clearly not built to last and it came to an end with what appeared to be a double tragedy. In 1927, the couple's two middle children both died in separate episodes of suspected food poisoning. At the time no one suspected foul play, but soon afterwards Charles Bragg ran off, taking their eldest daughter with him. He later claimed that he was frightened of his wife and had made a point of not eating anything she prepared.
Another "Tragedy"
With her husband gone, Nannie took a job at a cotton mill to support herself and her remaining daughter, Florine. In due course she moved across the state line to Georgia and remarried, to a man named Frank Harrelson. Harrelson turned out to be another alcoholic ne'er-do-well, although the relationship persisted until 1945 when another apparent tragedy struck. Once again, a child died. This time it was Florine's son, Nannie's grandson. Florine had left her infant son with her mother while she visited her father. Three days later the baby was dead. The suggestion was that he might accidentally swallowed rat poison.
Three months later, Nannie claimed her first adult victim. Frank Harrelson came home drunk and abused her one time too many. The next day, she put rat poison in his corn liquor. Several agonized days later he was dead, and, once more, no one suspected a thing.
Fortunately for Nannie, she had recently insured Frank's life and she now used the payment to buy a house in Jackson, Mississippi, where she lived until 1947. At this point, Nannie answered a lonely hearts advertisement - romance magazines and lonely hearts columns were Nannie's favored reading matter - placed by a man named Arlie Lanning from Lexington, North Carolina. Two days after they met, they were married. However, once again, Nannie's new husband proved to be a disappointment. Arlie was another drunk, and after three years Nannie had had enough of him.
In February 1950, Nannie served Arlie a meal of stewed prunes and coffee. He had terrible stomach pains for two days and then died. Nannie told neighbors that his last words were: "Nannie, it must have been the coffee." Of course, he may have been wrong: it may have been the arsenic in the coffee, but then again, it could have been the prunes that had been stewed in rat poison. The doctor, needless to say, did not suspect murder, not even when their house - which would have gone to Arlie's sister in his will - mysteriously burnt down, leaving Nannie with the insurance payment.
As soon as the insurance check cleared, Nannie left town. She visited her sister Dovie - who promptly keeled over. In 1952 Nannie signed up to a new innovation, a dating agency called the Diamond Circle Club. Through the agency she met Richard Morton from Emporia, Kansas. Yet again, he proved to be a disappointment, not a drunk this time, but a fraud and a womanizer. He was not to be her next victim, however: that was her mother Louise, who came to stay in January 1953, fell ill with chronic stomach pains and died. Three months later, Richard Morton went the same way. Yet again, the doctors failed to ask for an autopsy.
During her brief marriage to Morton, Nannie had continued corresponding with her lonely hearts, and immediately after the funeral she went to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to meet the likeliest new prospect, Samuel Doss. They were married in June 1953. Doss was not a drinker or womanizer: he was a puritanical Christian and miser. Once again, Nannie's new husband failed to meet her romantic ideal. A little over a year later, in September 1954, shortly after eating one of Nannie's prune cakes, Samuel was admitted to the hospital with stomach pains. He survived and was released from the hospital twenty-three days later. That evening, Nannie served him a perfectly innocent port roast, which he washed down with a cup of coffee laced with arsenic. He died immediately, and this time the physician ordered an autopsy.
They found enough arsenic to kill twenty men in Samuel's stomach. The police confronted Nannie, unable to believe that this fifty-year-old grandmother could be a killer. She unnerved them by giggling at their questions; then, when they refused to let her continue reading her romance magazine, she confessed to murdering not just Samuel, but her previous three husbands as well.
The news was an immediate sensation. The press dubbed Nannie the "Giggling Granny" and she was put on trial for murder. She was duly sentenced to life in prison and, after serving ten years of her sentence, died in 1965, aged sixty. Further investigation revealed that Nannie's four husbands, two children, and grandson were not the only victims: Nannie's mother, two sisters, a nephew, and a granddaughter had also dies of arsenic poisoning.